


The Wrong Way to Relax

by samwise_baggins



Series: Secret Desires [1]
Category: CSI: NY
Genre: Adult Content, Explicit Language, F/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26154694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwise_baggins/pseuds/samwise_baggins
Summary: Danny hasn't been getting any sleep, so Lindsay decides a shower massage is the way to go… Boy was she wrong!
Relationships: Danny Messer/Lindsay Monroe, Lindsay Monroe/Mac Taylor, Peyton Driscoll/Mac Taylor
Series: Secret Desires [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1899292





	The Wrong Way to Relax

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: "Snow Day" (Season Three finale of CSI: New York)  
> .  
> Notes: Well, you'll never believe where this bunny got me! After a very long night, and very little sleep, I fell asleep at my desk at work. Half an hour later, I woke up, minus a lunch break and with this running around my head, screaming for release. Thus, you have this tale.

Setting: Crime Lab, New York City

It had been a long two months.

With the explosion at the lab, the hostage situation at the warehouse crime scene, and the subsequent two months of recovery and rebuilding, everyone at the New York Crime Lab was on edge. No one had gotten any sleep, and processing evidence was tricky at best in their temporary quarters, with their reduced equipment availability. Even the investigators, pulling extra shifts to help rebuild the cases that had suffered due to the destruction, were feeling the pressure of lack of sleep, too long hours, and Internal Affairs questioning. Relationships were beginning to get a bit strained, as well. Perhaps it was the long, difficult shifts; or, it may have been the fact that Mac Taylor, in charge of the lab, was on edge and very stiff.

Right after the situation at the lab had reached a head, Mac had left with Peyton on a ten-day trip to London. He returned the next day, without his girlfriend. When questioned by his partner, and long time friend, Stella Bonasera, Mac's only answer was "Five hours into the flight, I realized I left you with no lab, several dozen destroyed cases, three investigators short, and IAB about to descend. I couldn't take vacation; you shouldn't have to handle that mess alone." However, it was apparent to even the dullest of minds that his decision to return had most likely put a huge dent in his relationship, and the man became more unapproachable than ever before.

It wasn't just the higher level investigators and the stressed-out lab techs. The junior investigators were feeling the heat, too. Lindsay Monroe and Sheldon Hawkes had to pull extra work loads to cover for their injured compatriots, Danny Messer and Adam Ross, who'd both been injured during the hostage crisis. When they returned, on limited duty, it had relieved some pressures, but it was quite apparent that the two men felt as if they'd somehow let everyone down due to their conditions: Adam had several deep cigarette burns to his hands and some broken ribs, as well as other injuries from his beating; Danny had most of the bones in his left hand, and every finger bone on the left, broken, as well as broken ribs and a bruised back and sprained knee. Everyone had assured the two injured men that they were entitled to some leeway, that no one blamed them for the stress, but everyone could tell the two investigators still felt guilty about the situation.

Yes, it had been a long two months.

Lindsay sighed, looking through the door to the temporary trace lab. Danny was rubbing at a crick in his neck, glasses perched on his forehead. She frowned, wanting to help her boyfriend. His hand and other injuries were almost totally healed after two long months, but the stress was obviously keeping him wound tight. And these late shifts were wreaking havoc with his sleep schedule; he'd gotten insomnia recently just like their supervisor, Mac. It was a problem Lindsay wanted to help solve, and she thought she had a way to do it.

Stepping away from the doorway, the young woman made her way back to her own temporary desk area. She wanted to get her files in order so she could be ready to meet Danny when he left. Recently, they'd been missing each other and by the time she would show at Danny's, he'd be too tired to do anything, even sleep. She wanted to be with him when he arrived home this time; hopefully she'd catch him a little more awake than the last couple of months.

Before she knew it, the clock had sped ahead two-and-a-half hours. Jumping up, Lindsay hurriedly logged out, intent on trying to catch Danny. Hopefully he hadn't left yet. Practically running down the hall, she glanced in the trace lab, but found it dark. If she was lucky, he was in the locker room. Lindsay skidded to a halt in front of the male's locker and shower room, listening at the door for any activity. With a smile, she recognized the sound of a lone person in the room beyond.

True, she had been intent on waiting until they got back to Danny's apartment before giving him a relaxing massage, but with no one else in the building, what could the harm be? Lindsay carefully pushed the door open, glancing inside. A small start of surprise went through her; the room was dark except for the emergency lighting, though the definite shape of clothes folded neatly on the bench was evident. Danny liked to shower in low light? Smile spreading, Lindsay slipped inside; she found it a bit of a turn-on with the pervading near-darkness.

Quickly, Lindsay slipped out of her clothes, not wanting to get them wet as she didn't have a change with her. She moved quietly into the other room, smiling a little more at the low-light of that room, too. There, near the back of the showers, was the figure she sought. The woman took a moment to stop and admire the almost indistinguishable figure.

His back was to her, hands braced on the wall, and feet slightly spread and firmly planted. His head was bent towards the wall as hot water coursed over his body. The glint of metal from around his neck gave him away: Danny wore religious medallions on a chain around his neck. As quietly as possible, Lindsay approached the man, knowing her footsteps would be further masked by the water pounding over his head.

Upon reaching the wet man, she reached her hands up to start massaging his shoulders. Instantly, he stiffened, starting to turn, but she firmly pushed him back to face the wall. In a low, throaty voice, she said, "No, relax. Let me help you." A soft groan issued from him, and he laid his forehead against the wall tiles, not protesting.

Lindsay was gifted with her hands; she gave a damn fine massage according to many a friend back in Montana. She kneaded the tight muscles, seeking out the sore places and soothing them away. Caressing, massaging, she moved from the muscular shoulders, down the strong back, towards lean hips, finding the occasional scar she hadn't known about; Lindsay made a mental note to ask Danny about those badges of honor later. Under her ministrations, the man before her was beginning to relax, soft groans of appreciation and pleasure issuing from his throat, drawing equal satisfaction from the young investigator.

A spark of mischief suddenly flared, and a smile spread wickedly over Lindsay's face. Carefully, not wanting to spook Danny as she had when she'd first come in, she let her hands massage ever closer around his firm waist and lean hips. Finally, she'd reached her new goal, closing her hand around his core, noticing with vague interest that he was a bit thicker than she had remembered. Again, he jerked in her arms, lifting his water-darkened head and beginning to turn in protest.

"Shhh . . ." she soothed, beginning to stroke him, keeping her voice low, husky with rising passion. "Let me help you; you need to relax." With a long groan as she caressed him, he dropped his head back down, pushing his hands harder against the wall. It was uncertain if he would give in for a moment, but then a soft moan broke free from the man as she continued.

Then his body was taut once more, and Lindsay knew he was already close to the edge; two months was a long time to go without release. Lindsay wanted to give him that completion. To that end, as she stroked him, she whispered gentle words of encouragement, delighting in the sounds of soft moans coming from the man. Her other hand was braced against his firm back, absently stroking light fingers over a scar across his shoulder.

Very soon, she felt a surge of satisfaction rush through her as he reached his release. His body shuddered again and again as he tried to calm his body, his breathing. With a soft smile, Lindsay kissed his shoulder gently, right over the scar.

Unexpectedly jarring her, he jerked away from the touch and pushed from the wall, whirling around. His voice was deep and angry, a slight rasp very noticeable. "What the hell was that all about?"

Shock threatened to root the woman to the spot, but self-preservation reared its head and Lindsay found herself fleeing from the angry man, stopping the barest of moments to scoop up her clothes before sprinting, nude and wet, from the room. Tears coursed down her face as she threw herself into the woman's locker room, sobbing.

Stunned, Stella whirled around to face the younger woman, her fingers stilling in the process of buttoning up the shirt of her street clothes. She took in, in an instant, the tears, the nude form, the fear, and immediately pulled Lindsay into the bright lights, studying her worriedly. "Lindsay? What happened?"

"I think I've just lost my job," she sobbed, sinking onto the cold wooden bench of the locker room.

With a shake of her head, Stella sank down next to her, unable to grasp the situation and the reasoning behind her friend's behavior. "Were you attacked, Lindsay?"

"Attacked?" She lifted confused eyes to the older woman. "No . . . why . . ." then shame flushed her face bright red as she became fully aware of her naked, wet state. "Oh, God!" Lindsay moaned as she dropped her head into her clothes-filled arms, sobbing. "No . . . not attacked . . . not me . . ."

Stella was equally confused as she slid an arm around the shuddering blonde. Giving her a few minutes to try to pull herself together, she finally reached over and lifted Lindsay's chin in her hand. "What happened, Kiddo?"

Lindsay lifted her head from her now thoroughly wet clothes and hiccupped. "Danny's been so tense recently, and he hasn't been sleeping. I thought I'd give him a massage . . . you know . . . to relax him." She wiped at her eyes.

Nodding briefly, Stella had to silently concede that a massage could do wonders for a tense man. "Go on."

"Well, I knew he was working late tonight, and so I went looking for him so I could catch a ride back to his place. He wasn't in the lab, but I heard someone in the men's showers . . . and figured, with so few people here, I could give him a massage before we left." Lindsay scrubbed a hand over her eyes and pushed on before Stella could comment; the disapproval on her face was comment enough.

"So, I went in there. The lights were low, but I recognized the chain around his neck . . . the one for his medallions, so I . . . I . . ." the woman stammered to a stop, and shook her head, wailing the rest in a rush, "I went in there and started massaging him and it ended in a hand job."

Wisely, holding back her shock at Lindsay's blatant disregard for sexual harassment policies, Stella merely nodded once more. "Go on. What did Danny do to you?"

Again, the younger woman wailed. "It wasn't Danny!" She buried her face in her clothes. Through the muffled tears and stuttered words, Stella couldn't understand what the woman said. It took several long minutes before the blonde calmed down enough to raise her head and groan in a defeated sigh, "I'm going to get fired for sure."

"Well, you did break policy, and what you did can easily be construed as sexual assault, Lindsay." The American-Greek woman thoughtfully sat there, next to the sobbing woman. "Get dressed and I'll see what we can do about this." She turned a stern eye on the junior investigator. "I can't guarantee a clean record, or even your job, but I'll try my best to help you out. Who was in the shower?"

Lindsay turned miserable eyes to her friend and moaned out, "It was Mac!"

 _Her job is lost._ It was a cruel thought, but most likely an accurate one. After all, Stella knew Mac perhaps better than even his girlfriend, Peyton. He wouldn't tolerate sexual harassment or assault, and he certainly wouldn't tolerate being the victim of it. As Stella waited for Lindsay to get dressed in a dry lab jumper, she tried to think of how she could help smooth out the situation, and couldn't think of much. Especially since a small, niggling thought kept popping up: out of everyone at the lab who needed a good hand-job to help him relax, Mac was probably the one.

Finally, the women were ready to face the lion in his den. They strode quickly to Mac's temporary office, hoping to catch him before he filed the report that would put a death-stamp on Lindsay's entire law enforcement career. Maybe, just maybe, by some very slim chance, they could get Mac to understand that the sexual encounter had been meant in the best intentions, and he'd gotten stuck in the crossfire . . . but even that didn't sound very good.

At Stella's knock, an immediate growl of "Come in," issued forth, and Lindsay went a bit paler. With a push to open the door, the two women entered the very much cramped quarters their supervisor was inhabiting until the lab's reconstruction was finished.

Mac's handsome face was set in a cold, withdrawn expression, his blue eyes piercing and disapproving. He watched silently as the two investigators slid into seats. Finally, when they seemed as settled as they were going to get, he asked "What do you need?"

Lindsay gulped, and Stella leaned forward, her face as serious as Mac's. "Lindsay asked me to mediate a meeting between you two concerning an occurrence in the showers."

Normally, Mac was the intermediary, being both the supervisor and their Union Representative, but he could easily see how that wouldn't be feasible in this situation. "You could wait for a mediator from the Union . . ." he suggested, as per regulations, but Lindsay's head shake indicated she'd rather be represented by Stella. He nodded. "Fine." The word was short and cold.

Stella turned to the younger woman and gave her a nod of encouragement. "Tell him what you told me, Lindsay."

The blonde flushed, but, having never backed down from a challenge in her life, she forced herself to meet the cold, disapproving eyes of her supervisor, and unintentional lover. "I . . . I was worried about Danny, because he hasn't been getting sleep. Everyone's so tense and on edge. So . . . I thought I'd get a ride home with him so I could . . . uh . . . give him a massage and relax him."

When Mac didn't even acknowledge her words, she swallowed nervously and continued. "I knew Danny was working late, and I thought he was the one in the shower . . . I . . . the lights were so low, I couldn't . . . I . . ." Finally, she blurted out, "I'm sorry, Mac. I didn't intend for it to go so far or for you to be the one who . . ."

He raised one hand, effectively silencing her. "Lindsay, what you did was inappropriate at the very least. Entering the men's room or locker and shower areas without due cause is against regulations. The woman's facilities are in working order, so there's no excuse."

She hung her head, but when he continued, the younger woman forced herself to look him in the eye once more.

"Not verifying who was inside and whatever occurred in the room is another matter entirely."

"Mac," she jumped in, unable to stay quiet, needing to defend herself, even if she didn't know how. "I'm sorry. It will never happen again. I . . . I know I'll lose my job for this."

"Is that what you think I should do?"

Lindsay stifled a sob. "I . . . I know this will go on my record." She couldn't bring herself to tell him to fire her. It hadn't started out sexual at all.

Several long, tense moments passed in which none of the three spoke. So far, Stella hadn't said anything in Lindsay's defense, merely sitting quietly. After all, there was nothing she could say that hadn't been said, nothing she could suggest to help ease the trouble the young woman had gotten herself into. The tension was on the verge of getting truly unbearable when Mac's deep rasp broke through.

"You're on report, Lindsay, for inappropriate use of the facilities. If this occurs again, you will be taken from the promotion grid and put on desk duty. A third offense will see you fired without a reference . . . there will be no next time, do you understand?"

She nodded, eyes filling once more with tears of shame.

"Did you have anything else to add?"

"Mac, I'm sorry . . ." He lifted one dark eyebrow, encouraging her to finish. "What I did . . ."

"What happened in the room isn't in the report, as no one has reported you for anything beyond entering it. Did you want to add something to the report?" His voice was a warning, and suddenly she understood.

Her supervisor was giving her a second chance. He was going to 'forget' about what she'd done and let her off with this rather minor disciplinary action. Thankfully, she shook her head. "No, Mac. I . . . I don't want to add anything."

"Your shift's over for the night, so go home," Mac added, almost unnecessarily.

Lindsay didn't make a peep of protest. She merely rose and strode from the room, as quickly as dignity would allow.

When Mac and Stella were finally alone in the room, they sat in silence, only the ticking of a clock heard over their quiet breathing. Finally, Stella cleared her throat and said, "That was decent of you, Mac."

Mac sighed and stood, watching as his partner, and second-in-command, rose as well. He didn't say anything as he reached for his leather jacket, a frown still marring his features. With a shrug, Mac slipped into the butter-soft leather then turned to his companion. "As long as she knows it was inappropriate and doesn't repeat the offense . . ." he let that drop, but Stella caught the hint of near bewilderment in his voice. After all, it wasn't every day someone dared give Mac a hand-job.

Stella smiled, slipping her arm through his and guiding him towards the elevator and inside. At his look of surprise, she grinned wider and nudged his side. "I wonder if you would have been so lenient before you had a nice, relaxing . . . _massage_."

Mac shot her a glare, trying to ignore her laughter as the elevator doors swished closed.


End file.
